Take Good Aim
by lillyinblack
Summary: Alone, boarded up against the shambling horrors outside, is about as good as being one of them. Reviews appreciated and welcome! More may be written if interest is taken.
1. Series of Bad Dreams

**Warnings: Minor character death, gore, dark themes.**

**Take Good Aim  
**

_Bang bang..._

Oh God, oh God no... not this again. She was screaming aloud, cheeks wet with unstoppable tears, lip doused with mucous dripping from her nose. Logic told her to stop, but logic was something that was becoming more and more intangible as the long days burned by.

Oh God. He'd vomited blood all over her. She had tasted it even, hotly splattered against her body and across her face. And as he apologized and started shaking, she could taste something off in the blood. All of the refugees in the truck started pressing away from him, and she even found herself pressing her back painfully into the metal slats of the truck. Sanity started to drift from her then. He was supposed to have made it... that fucking bastard! He could have made it all the way... why'd he have to go and do that? Now it had replayed in her mind once again, those moments that dragged by with excruciating detail.

Bright morning light pouring mercilessly into the back of the 5-ton truck.

The thin lines of hate, pity, and resolve that formed on the mouths of the military men. The sound of an infected vomiting was something none of them could ever forget, let alone ignore.

Their rough hands yanking him out of the truck while the rest of them screamed in protest.

She had leapt in a dead sprint after them, and fuck her legs, if only she hadn't have tripped. Her chin hit the ground, cracking her teeth together, blood invading her mouth, but still she scrambled up. Fingers tearing at the gravel, palms splitting open, legs screaming to move forward. Then nothing again. Someone had her by the shoulders, pinned back, another set of arms wrapping around her hips and holding her tight.

"Stop!" A voice in her ear felt like it came from miles away.

"We can't-" Another chanted.

"Fuck you!" Her voice, cracked, torn, overused, was aged now. They pressed into her, comfort leaking into their grasp, trying to keep her calm. She felt wetness hit the skin on her neck, and the panic sparked again, for tears always meant loss anymore. Sound left the world then. All turned to color instead; black and white, blurry at the edges.

They had him in the ditch on the side of the road. He was on his knees, sallow skin perspiring, hair matted against his head with a mixture of his own filth and that of the road they had taken. His fingers held onto the uneaven wood of the fence in front of him, scratching in slightly. His face though, that same face she knew since childhood, was turned toward her, his sickness apparent. Those eyes of his, once a familiar shade of brown, had sunken in, points of yellow appearing behind the irises. He really was turning, yet... he was smiling? But he was breathing so fast, just like she was, chest heaving massivly with the effort to stay lucid.

"It'll be all righ', no worries 'ere, no regrets. This ain't a bad way ta go." He said aloud, the muzzle of a combat shotgun bumping into the back of his skull. The wince he gave made her fight again, kicking, throwing fists, but all in vain. They held her arms to her sides, and she heard them crying.

"Ya'll are gonna make it, don' let me down."

Bang. Bang.

Her eyes went wide in her skull as her muscles went limp, realizing only vaguely that her throat was so raw from screaming that little noise was escaping her mouth. A body slumped to the ground, grafitti of bone and blood dripping in a cone line along the derelict fence, and she felt her body slump too. The scene disappeared, tumbling, and instead she saw the bright southern sky, early morning, stained by the wings of a crow murder. Sounds started crashing back down, and the colors, bright and beautiful, obscene in that particular moment. She covered her face with her palms and sobbed as if she'd never cried her whole life.

The other men lifted her gently by shoulders and back, forcing her up. They had to leave.

Leave. While Dave's body lay to rot in the Louisiana sun, his kind smile never to see another morning like this. After all they'd been through, they would have to push on while Dave made the final journey alone. She couldn't have fucking saved him, she knew that, but he didn't even fight it. That last look in his eyes with his sad smile had simply said, "Make sure I'm dead."

As her breathing calmed, she wiped her face clean on her discarded sweatshirt, her breath coming and going in shudders. It was too quiet, all that screaming should have brought something nearby. This stupid fucking Victorian. She had been here for... no, it wasn't quite morning, so only fourteen days and nights. For the past four, she'd been utterly alone. They heavy steel doors were done up right by CEDA, and barred good and tight. Nothing was going to get in while she was around. But... when was she going to get out? The quiet bothered her, considering it shouldn't be quiet at all. Swallowing every bit of courage she still possessed, she turned her head slowly toward the second door. Her legs drew up against her chest involuntarily, and she hugged herself as she met the glowing stare of her only 'companion' in the past few days.

The witch had her forehead plastered against the bars, her taloned fingers creeping inside, clicking and scraping against the metal softly. Her eyes glowed as citrines in the mid-day sun, lit from within. Her shock of pink and blonde hair feathery and smooth in the moonlight. Her grey skin was still alarming, her grimace melting into contemplation whenever she looked into the safe room. Every night, when the nightmares subsided, the witch would be at the door, staring, perhaps feeling a strange animal kinship with another soul in pain. Terror, however, still gripped the young woman, and she simply stared back in stark silence. The witch slowly began to start swaying again, and the horrible wails resumed, claws removed from the door with a squeal to hide her face as she wandered across the street again to cry alone.

How long was it going to take before she snapped? The smell of decaying bodies elevated every day, and because of it, she had stopped shooting the soulless bodies that wandered by. Instead of slowly turning into one of those things, she was going to remain human. The scratches, bites, and bile that had covered her on the journey down here certainly hadn't affected her so far. Being alone in this building was not going to save her. The food had run out yesterday, and she had water for maybe two more days. Two options now lie at her feet. She could go through that second door, alone, past that sobbing witch and through the hordes alone, trying to follow the ones who had left her behind to keep her "safe". Too many of those things had an uncanny sense for untainted blood, and the superbly mutated fucks could take her down in less than a moment, ticking her life away all by their lonesome if she made the smallest miscalculation in timing or awareness. Or, she could set a magnum against her temple and hope God forgave her for such an exit. Death either way.

There had once been a time where dying while fighting was the only option, but after being alone in this crumbling storefront, deciding between a quick death and an honorable one made her knees week. Now, rescue was not a realistic hope. She could, however, choose at least to die on her own terms. She wondered if Charlie and Keith had made it, if they somehow found their way through New Orleans alone. If so, were they infected anyway? Shot by the military? Being held and prodded by doctors who refused to send rescue back for the ones they left behind? As much as she wanted to hate them for being gone, she felt a surge of relief at the fantasy of them making it out alive and untainted.

She stared at the handgun sitting across from her on a low shelf. Sitting next to Dave's huge bowie knife and the shotgun she'd picked from the corpse of an unlucky survivor, it glinted dark silver in the low moonlight. Cunning, comforting. Her eyes closed heavily, head slumping down against her knees. Tomorrow, just need to get through 'till tomorrow. She'd keep the company of the dead and the sobbing witch for one more day.

**AN: Hope you're having a better day than this girl is. :D Edited for some bad grammar and to expand on a few things. Review if you're inclined, I may continue if there is interest. (L4D2 crew, with some NickxRochelle for giggles, mostly gore and human nature though. :D )**


	2. Truths

**Warnings: Gore, dark themes.**

* * *

**Truths**

Opening her eyes in the morning was always a strange sensation. For a few blissful moments in the darkened shop, the world was foreign and unthreatening. Still floating on her exhausted high, her situation disappeared for a few moments. Hell wasn't outside, and all that really mattered was stretching stiff limbs and yawning. Reality came crashing down with faint noises from outside. She sighed and cursed under her breath, grabbing her magnum and inspecting it idly, the idea of placing it against her head lessened from the night before. The witch was still crying, which was odd. She was usually plastered to the door every morning, staring into her own personal zoo exhibit.

It must have been around ten in the morning by the light staining the floor. The number of random infected outside had gotten thick over the past few days. Between the mixture of her silence and the smell of decay inside of the building, they hardly came up to the door anymore to investigate. She got up and found the reserve of water she had been rationing, her mouth turning grim realizing the next swig would be her last. She would have to leave by tomorrow at the latest if she hoped to find another safe room down the road, or at least sustenance. Soft cracking noises broke the air, and she nearly choked.

Gunfire?

She stood stock still, waiting and hearing it over and over again. She crouched toward the barricaded door from whence she came in and listened hard for the direction. To her heart's dismay, they were coming from the same direction she had come in. More survivors? Or military? More survivors just meant more death in her humble opinion, and possibly with the military too if they didn't believe her to be immune. Ten minutes later, she could tell the guns apart. Desert eagles, bombs, something heavy and automatic she hadn't heard before, shotgun, and the familiar clap of a high-powered rifle. Fifteen minutes after that, the soft murmur of human voices calling to one another hit her ears, and she felt like crying. She strapped Dave's knife to her belt, the combat shotgun across her back, and hefted the magnum in her right hand, retreating to the back of the store. Another five minutes, and she heard a deep male voice, clearly southern, urging others to follow. She watched in almost slow motion as the zombies outside of the door were flayed by bullets, skulls exploding, rib cages destroyed.

"Safe house!" She was shocked to hear a female voice, and the amount of cheer in it.

"About fucking time," the drawl of another male was smooth but irritated, "that was a gauntlet I'd rather not repeat. We should have stayed on that boat and drifted at sea with Virgil for a few months."

"Jus' help me get this door open, Nick, we gotta get Ro fixed up-" the first voice sounded back followed by a rough shaking on the door, "-what in hell?"

"What's up, Coach?" the female asked, concerned.

"Damn door won't budge-" she saw a muscled arm snake through the bars, reaching for the bar across the door. Unfortunately for them, they couldn't see the steel shelving unit keeping the door snugly closed. She aimed her magnum for the metal stripping at the top of the door and fired a warning, the bullet ricocheting into the ceiling.

"Coach!" Nick yelled, going for the door, anger knitting his brow.

"Someone's in there." Rochelle thought aloud.

"No kidding, sweetheart, and they just took a pot shot at us." Nick was raising his AK to his shoulder and was approaching the door, only to reel back as another shot was fired.

"Are you infected?" A stern, southern female voice called from inside the dark. Rochelle looked over at Ellis, who shrugged back at her.

"Immune? Hell, I'd assume so." He scratched the nape of his neck.

"Are we gonna answer?"

Another gunshot, "I will only ask ya one more time, are ya'll immune?" Ellis lowered his rifle to his side, expression suddenly thoughtful.

"I know that voice, Ro."

"Boy, what are you doin'?" Coach hissed as Ellis passed him, reaching the bars of the door. He could make out the girl just barely in the dim light.

"Carol Ann, that you?" He asked gently, startling the girl would probably earn him a slug between the eyes. He watched her stiffen, then her arms drop, magnum pointing to the floor.

"The fuck is this?" Nick slid up next to Rochelle, incredulous, "We travel through two states, most of the two-legged things we meet wanting to crack our heads open for shits-n-giggles, and the kid ends up finding someone he knows?" Rochelle merely smirked and punched his arm, earning her the indignant look she had become all too familiar with.

"Some of us are just luckier than others, I suppose." She sighed.

"Well, if his luck means as many jockeys as that kid has had strapped to his back, I'm glad it's not shinin' on me."

"Ellis Ray?" The softness of the reply made them all stop.

"Carrie? That is you. C'mon, open the door."

"Are you immune?" She croaked, not moving from the spot she stood.

"Carrie, we been runnin' on foot since Savannah, how could we not be?" Ellis argued gently.

"Don't mean bullshit," she spat, "ya'll have better been scratched, or bit, or puked on, or somethin'."

"Trust me, girl, every single one of us have been bandaged up on numerous occasions," Coach entered the window frame as well, trying to get a good sight on the woman, "if we're not immune by now, I'll wear a tutu and give a tank a lap-dance." Rochelle choked on her laughter, Nick smirked, and Ellis just gave him a sidelong look of horror. "Now, come open this here door, we've got someone in need of first aid and rest." The girl hesitated for a moment longer, and then in fast motion she holstered her handgun and scurried to the door, not bothering to cross into the light. She grunted as she yanked on the heavy steel shelving in front of the door, and it moved slowly away, screeching along the tile floor.

Finally she shifted to the door, illuminated by the early day, to unbar the door. Her eyes were downcast, glued to the door, but Ellis knew her in an instant. Carol Ann Bennet, he'd been friends with her since they were both kids, and she was alive! Something was very wrong though, her movements were fast and jerky, eyes never looking up, and as soon as the door was unbarred, she shot back to her original spot in the back of the storefront. Ellis and Coach entered first, subconsciously checking the safe house for its layout. Rochelle limped in after, slumping against a wall then sliding down it to the floor, rubbing her leg but still seeming in good spirits. Nick brought up the rear, re-barring the door and sliding the shelving back into place. He shot a glance across the store at the paranoid girl who let them in, an uneasy feeling in his chest, before kneeling on the ground next to Rochelle. He yanked his med-pack off his back, and despite her initial protests, she allowed him to examine her right ankle and splint it properly.

"You should be good to go on it, it's not too bad of a sprain." He commented quietly, the silence in the room uncomfortable. He shoved some pain pills her direction and she swallowed them dry.

"Thanks, Nick." She smiled her slow, small smile. It made him feel ten feet tall, though he would never admit it.

"Carrie, what is goin' on here?" They turned their heads toward Ellis and the paranoid young woman. She was rubbing her arms nervously.

"I've been here a bit." She answered softly, not coming into the light.

"Define a bit." Coach asked, urging gently. When she didn't answer, he sighed, "Is there anyone else here? Upstairs?" She shook her head quickly.

"Bodies. Room up there is no good."

"She's in shock." Rochelle whispered to Nick, then got to her feet, testing the splint before walking forward, "I'm going to try to diffuse this." She crossed the room and tapped Coach on the arm.

"You and Nick check out the place, I'm good to leave as soon as we get a little rest. We need supplies though." He raised an eyebrow then shrugged.

"Allrigh' Nick, your mission is to find me ammo, and maybe a Twix."

"Christ. Find me some cigarettes and I'll learn how to conjure food out of thin air for you." They busied themselves about the store, assessing the second exit and noting the witch and the other ambient infected milling about, planning. Rochelle went to stand by Ellis, putting a hand on his arm. He was agitated, scared, desperately wanting to reach out to this girl.

"Hi, I'm Rochelle." She turned her attention to the small woman a few feet away, still cloaked in dark. "Will you talk to me an' Ellis?"

"Yeah." The reply was short, clipped, and she still fidgeted with her arms.

"Here, sit down." Rochelle sat carefully, yanking on Ellis's pant leg to get him to sit down too, setting his gun a few feet away and stretching out, trying to relax. It seemed to help, Carrie's stance calming, and then she sat against the wall, knees up. The light was finally able to reveal her. She was on the short side, thin and fit, a bit too skinny from obvious lack of nutrition. Her skin was fair, dusted with freckles on most of her exposed skin, and covered with grime and God knew what else. Her eyes were pretty enough, deep hazel, but ringed with dark purple circles of exhaustion, the whites bloodshot. She fiddled with a John Deere trucker cap on top of her head, drawing it a little lower. As far as Rochelle could tell, the hair stuffed under that cap was a pretty shade of auburn, but matted with blood and grime. Just like all the rest of them, this girl was road-worn. She wore a plain baseball-style t-shirt, black and white, the white stained with a myriad of sickening colors. Her jeans were baggy, ripped and torn, cinched up by a men's leather belt, and her tennis shoes had seen better days, but were still functional. "We wanna get you outta here, how long have you been here?"

"About two weeks now." She answered, fiddling with the brim of her cap, she couldn't bring herself to look at Ellis, not after the things she had done.

"Two weeks? Alone?" Ellis sounded dumbfounded, "Nobody else was here? How'd you get down here?" Carrie started to breathe hard, panic setting in at the memories.

"It's okay," Rochelle's voice was soothing, "you've been here this long, it must have been hard. You're okay now though, we're gonna help you. We do need to know what happened though." She watched the girl thoughtfully, Carrie drawing in a deep shuddering breath to calm down.

"We got 'ere two weeks past, with the military, and a few other survivors. The streets were already startin' to turn bad, too many of the infected." She sighed, picking at a frayed hole on the knee of her jeans, "The soldiers we were with were overwhelmed, we broke into the cab of the truck we were on and got our weapons back. Made it here in about a day. The... two of us left ten days ago, trying to find help to come back for the rest. They never came back."

"What about the others that were with you? Did they try to move on as well?" Rochelle asked gently, wanting more information and feeling she was missing something. Pushing this girl was not wise though, her mind slipping from captivity. Her heart broke a bit as the girl buried her face in her hands and started sobbing. Ellis made a soft noise in the back of his throat, twitching forward to go comfort her, but he held, mouth twisted into an uncharacteristic frown.

"They're all dead, upstairs." Carrie managed between sobs and heaving breaths, "They hid that they were infected. Whole fucking trip here. They hid it. Nobody knew. One stayed upstairs since we got here, third day watching them I went upstairs to find them turned and spewing blood everywhere. I shot them. Straight through their skull until I couldn't see their face anymore. The other two, they showed every sign, they knew it. They tried to fight me, _hurt_ me. They're eyes started turnin' yellow, and I killed 'em both. I killed human beings, people just like me who were sick."

Ellis stared at her in shock, the restraint obvious across his face. She looked up at them and tried to wipe her tears off on her sleeves, "The last woman just knew, asked me to do it, save her from what they became. I shot her through the heart." She gestured vaguely toward a body covered carefully with a sheet next to the store counter before hugging her knees and hiding her face. The room was stuffy with silence, the only noise coming from the wailing witch outside. Part of each of them was appalled, but the truth of the matter was that none of them had to deal with another survivor succumbing to the infection. Although they could try to preach differently, they all would have done the same given the situation, for the sake of survival.

"Aw Hell." Ellis spat, rolling forward and crossing the small space between them on his hands and knees. The movement startled Carrie but she froze still as he settled in beside her, a comforting arm wrapping around her shoulders, his eyes trying to find hers but failing, "You can't blame yourself for this. Can't say what you did was righ' or wrong, world's gone crazy. Important thing now is you're alive, and we found you."

"Ellis is right." Coach's deep voice was soothing to her ear, "We can getcha outta here, we'll just need you to help as much as you can."

"No worries, Coach, I'll watch over her."

"Who knew you had a knight complex, kid." Nick scoffed from his post at the door.

"Don't you start your shit, Nick." Rochelle warned gently, "There aren't a whole lot left of us in the world, sticking together is key right now." But even so, and none of them would admit it aloud, Coach, Rochelle, and Nick all felt the same uneasy dread of picking up a stranger. An emotionally unsound one? Running through the streets with them waving guns and explosives about? Not so great. Ellis, either credit to his unwavering optimism or deep trust for a childhood friend would never leave her behind though, no matter the cost. They would not lose Ellis over it.

"In other news, no food, no water," Nick broke the silence grimly, "and that witch is driving me batshit."

"Drank the last of the water this morning, no food for the last two days." Carrie's voice was beginning to steady, and Ellis took comfort in the soft drawl with raspy edges he knew anywhere taking the place of the hollow, haunted one. Carrie had been in his life since he was six, and just having her around felt like home was a possibility again. He was still greatly disturbed by the degradation of her spirit and attitude, but maybe after getting out, traveling with them, he could find the real friend again. She had to do things he hadn't so far, and he wasn't about to hold it against her.

"We all need food and drink, best we just get going then, unless anyone has a dire need to stay here." Nick and Rochelle nodded in agreement, Ellis gripped Carrie's shoulder softly. She mustered the strength her mind still held and forced her eyes to meet his. God, it made her want to weep again, seeing his familiar blue eyes and encouraging smile. This was a sign, this really was rescue. No dream, no paranoia. Whatever controlled this world set them on the same path again and she would need to do her goddamned best to make good on the second chance given to her.

"I'm ready to leave." Ellis's grin crushed her inside, a spiral of happiness and grief for those she'd lost, they'd lost. She'd have to tell him everything, soon. "Ellis, there are a lot of things you need to know."

"Don't worry that now," Ellis shrugged, "we can catch up on things after we find some food and shelter." She opened her mouth to protest but shut it again, dreading all that she needed to tell him. The memories she held could destroy him, but she'd have to confess them eventually.

"Need to take care of that witch first," Nick was peering through the safe house door, "Ellis, get over here with that rifle, we'll just kill her from inside." Ellis looked momentarily irritated as he removed himself from next to Carol Ann. He hefted the high-powered, scoped rifle and crouched on the last few steps of the stairwell, away from the heavy bars on the door. He took careful aim at the witch, being sure that as she lifted her head, his crosshairs met the back of her skull where it ran into her neck. The crack of the gun was distinct, short and violent, just like it's kick. Blood and bone sprayed onto the stoop she sat up and she screamed, stumbling to her feet, whipping her glowing gaze around to the safe room. Nick stiffened and stepped back, crouching next to Ellis with AK at the ready. The screams of the witch threatened to tear Carrie's mind apart for the last time, she hugged her knees to keep from flying apart. The angry infected wheeled and sprinted for the door, but never made it, Ellis putting another large slug securely in her forehead, the back of her skull disintegrating as she shrieked for the last time. Her slight body pitched forward, gore dripping down her back as she stilled on the pavement.

Rochelle's hand on her shoulder made Carrie jump, but she looked up and tried to smile, "Come on then, you ready?"

"Yeah." She got to her shaky feet and looked at her weapons. The bowie knife was going with her, even though she had no intent of using it. It attached easily by the sheath to her belt, on her right hip, and it felt good there. On her left was the holster for the magnum, no longer a threat to her life. Part of her liked it better that way. The combat shotgun was bulky, and she'd never liked it, but it was slung across her back anyway. Ellis returned to her side and looked at it critically before taking it off of its simple strap.

"Not really a gun I'd peg you for."

"Only thing I could find really," she sighed, "lost the rifle on the way down." She opened a small backpack filled with some personal items to stow extra ammunition. Ellis set the shotgun down on the shelf in front of him, then took the rifle from his back.

"I'd rather you take this," he set it in her hands securely, the gesture one of finality, "you're a better shot than me anyway." He grinned lopsidedly, and she couldn't help but smile back a little, making Ellis bounce on his heels in triumph. He stuffed a few extra clips into her backpack before grabbing the shotgun again and left her to finish, walking back over to the safe house door after grabbing shotgun shells.

"You insane? What if she misfires into one of us? She's a bit unstable right now if you hadn't noticed." Nick whispered low to him while Rochelle fussed over Coach and Carrie.

"You'd rather take a shotgun blast to a slug? She ain't gonna hurt us Nick, you gotta trust me." Ellis raised his eyebrow at him. Nick merely shrugged in defeat, impressed that Ellis stood up to him, the occurrence extremely rare.

"More eyes will probably help." Nick admitted and unbarred the door, kicking it open haphazardly and passing the threshold in a crouch. Ellis followed, both of them opening small arms fire on the thin group of infected in the next intersection. Rochelle looked over at Carrie expectantly, her expression encouraging, but Carrie was frozen with fear. She moved as best she could, but it was jerky at best. The doorframe felt like the railing of a bridge as she stepped over it, but the other side was solid, the concrete of the sidewalk the best safety net her mind had.

"First steps are always the worst," Rochelle appeared at her side, Coach slipping out behind them and moving forward, scanning the buildings for storefronts with possible supplies, "damn good job, now each one will get better." Carrie took a deep breath in, sighing in reply, feeling a weight lift with the fresh air. She adjusted the cap on her head higher to see better, remembering her hunger, her thirst, and suddenly she felt the rush of humanity crash back into her.

"Park is gonna be the only way through, ya'll," Coach assessed, "got a couple of military vehicles here though, let's look 'em over and get movin'." Carrie stood in the center of the intersection, looking up toward the park while the others stripped the Humvee of anything useful. Thankfully it had a nice back stock of ammunition, some bottled water, pain pills, and some undamaged MRE meals. As soon as they could make it some place safe, they would eat well that night. A horde, however, caught them off-guard, the sounds of their angry squeals and cries mixing with their bodies hitting chain-link fencing, the mindless desire to kill pitching their bodies toward the survivors. Carrie froze as she watched the scene unfold, but it wasn't death. Nick crouched against the armored vehicle's side, back to the metal, unleashing a spray of heavy bullets into the approaching group, severing limbs, busting skulls. Ellis had taken the other side, propped by a cement divider, sending shot into the thick tide of bodies trying to make it over the fence. Coach and Rochelle sat the middle, firing their magnums into the skulls of any infected that made it past the top of the fence. The garbled yowl of a smoker registered in Carrie's mind, making her look around in almost slow motion. Rochelle gasped in panic as the thick, slime covered tongue wrapped around her thin body and yanked her back toward the safe room, propping her against the building like a hangman's noose.

Yelling was coming from all sides then, but Carrie felt herself move, swinging down to a crouch, the scope in front of her right eye. The rifle felt right in her grip, stock secure against her shoulder, and the trigger felt like an old friend when the thick rope of tongue was in the crosshairs. One crack, and Rochelle was free, falling to the ground and coughing, swearing in between. Another yowl, and the smoker stuck his oversized head outside of the upper-story window to try for another survivor. She watched the tongue swirl in it's slack mouth through the scope before letting another bullet loose, the confetti of blood and bone against the wall only visible for a moment before a puff of smoke erased it. Next moment she knew, Carrie was standing next to Rochelle, getting her to her feet and looking the other woman over for injury.

"I'll be damned." Coach whistled.

"Told ya, Nick." Ellis elbowed Nick in the ribs, "Better shot even than me."

"Well, now I can suck up to her for protection, and not you."

"Wait, what?"

"Doesn't matter, overalls, lets' get the lead out, people." Nick rolled his eyes and mounted the stairs toward the park. They all moved quickly and silently into the park, its wide open space a bit welcome in the wake of the closeness of the city's streets. With every infected they put down, Carrie was feeling more and more herself again. Any well placed shots would earn her a cheer from Ellis or a heavy pat on the back from Coach before they pressed on. It was stupid to feel so good to move, but she wasn't going to dwell on the 'whys' of that. Being alive was good enough. Still, whenever a body fell limp to the ground, she said a short prayer of 'please God' in her head. Perhaps if she thought it enough, their souls really would get saved. It took them a good half hour to search the park back to front, but they found a good amount of first aid supplies scattered about, replacing things they had lost along the way. The street beyond the park was blocked at both ends, the only way through being a dark alley between two Victorians. Nick arced a pipe bomb through the alley and into the clearing beyond, the subsequent screams of infected cut off moments later with a large blast.

"That never gets old." He smiled to himself, Rochelle stifling a short laugh before pressing forward into the wide open space beneath a highway overpass. Their good mood was cut short by the scene on the other side. Gates were linked together, snaking into rows as if at a movie theater, the ground littered with bodies. Beyond the winding gates and under the shadows of the highway, stacks of luggage formed a disorganized wall. Some of it was open and spilling everywhere, but for the most part they were merely stacked and separated. Coach and Nick ducked around them to the other side while Rochelle, Ellis, and Carol Ann scoured the area for more helpful items.

"What in God's name..." Coach stopped abruptly as they moved further behind the stacks. Nick ground his teeth, enraged, confused, and scared by what they were seeing. A mass grave, shallow, hastily dug, sprawled a good fifty feet under the overpass. Bodies were stacked upon one another in heaps. They were not infected though, at least not fully progressed infected. Each one of the bodies bore single gunshot wounds to hearts or heads. Men, women... and children. Execution wounds.

"They..." Nick swallowed hard, acid bubbling up in his throat, "they were slaughtering these people. Like fucking dogs, Coach." He looked at the older man and felt even more disturbed by the tears running down his face. "Jesus Christ, Coach, what the fuck is happening?"

"I, I don't know, Nicolas," Coach rubbed his eyes with the tail of his shirt, "I have no idea anymore. We need to move before the other three see this, ain't gonna do good things to 'em."

"Its not doing good things for _me_. Coach, you okay?" Nick asked him slowly.

"No, no I'm not. Are you?"

"No." They looked at each other, nodding grimly before rushing back out to the others.

"You guys find anything?" Rochelle asked as the two re-emerged from behind the luggage stacks, the looks on their faces disturbing her a little, "you guys okay?"

"Fine Ro, but we need to get moving on." Nick did his best to reassure her, his smile unconvincingly sad. She opened her mouth say something but shut it again when he shouldered his AK and went to round up the others. The pathway of gates led to an open trailer, CEDA plastered to the side of it. As the five of them loaded in, they took note of the warning signs. It was a medical clearance zone of sorts, and much to their dismay, an alarm was going to greet them once they left it to progress forward.

"The trailer at least is tough," Ellis remarked, "probably should jus' use it for a few to rest. I don't think any of us have eaten since we left Virgil, lets bust those MREs out and eat 'em in front of the zombies."

"I know I don't agree with you much, but that's probably a good idea, Ellis." Nick replied, earning a smile from the young man. In truth, Nick and Coach were still shaken hard from what they had seen, time to relax sounded too good to be true.

"Well, once we shut that door, that's it," Rochelle sighed as the men started rustling about with the MREs, "at least we'll have full bellies to fight the masses on." She laughed a little and shut the door, hearing the seal hiss shut. The wonderful thing about MREs was that most of them had their own heat sources to warm the food, and compared to what they had been eating all the way down from Savannah, it was like being at a 5-star restaurant. They ate in silence to start with, too hungry to do anything else but focus on eating.

"So, how long have you known Ellis, little girl?" Coach asked after a few minutes, small talk making for good distraction for all of their minds. Carrie was just surprised that he had struck up conversation with her. She shifted a little under the gaze of the four, clearing her throat a little and downing some water, a little red from embarassment.

"Almost all my life," she stated quietly, picking at her food, "his Ma met mine when they started workin' together at a bank. They started comin' over four or five times a week, El would play with my brother and I. I was four."

"My Pa died when I was three," Ellis admitted, "Ma was alone with jus' me after that, was nice to have more people to be around, good people."

"My Dad walked out on us when I was a baby," Carrie shrugged, "we all just sorta... clung onto each other. All grew up together with a couple other neighborhood boys."

"Keith, Dave, Charlie, you an' me," Ellis grinned at her, "well, whenever Charlie let ya outta the house."

"Overprotective brother?" Rochelle smirked.

"A little." Carrie shrugged.

"A little?" Ellis asked, disbelief in his voice, "dude yanked all us boys aside at thirteen and read us the riot act about his little sister and how he'd string us up if we ever had an impure thought about her." Carrie choked on her water as laughter rolled out of the others. She blushed until her ears went red.

"Why d'you think I dress like ya'll do, El?" she snipped, "If I try real hard I look just as much a boy as you."

"Tits and ass are a dead giveaway, honey." Nick smirked.

"Then don't tell Charlie that." she fiddled with the brim of her hat for the thousandth time, "Somehow I got him fooled."

"Wait, so Charlie's alive?" Ellis asked, and they all fell silent. She had hoped this conversation would have come later, but she couldn't lie to Ellis, never had been able to.

"I'm not sure."

"Did he leave with you from Savannah, then?"

"Yeah."

"So where is he?" He demanded, not angrily, but she still feared telling him the truth.

"He and Keith," she swallowed hard, "they were the ones who left me in charge of the safe house while they searched ahead. They were only supposed to be gone a little while to try to find us help. I don't know what happened to em." Silence overtook all of them. Nick felt his heart sink, wondering if this girl's brother and friend were part of that mass grave. He looked over to Ellis to see something he had not once seen since meeting the kid: anger, real anger, written all over his features. He stared at the floor, brow knitted together, jaw clenched, balling his fists on and off. He tapped the floor of the trailer with his knuckles sharply, letting a little steam off.

"Why in hell would they leave you behind?"

"El, they were jus' tryin' to make us safe."

"And they were fuckin' wrong."

"Ellis Ray-"

"No, that's bullshit, an' you know it. You don't leave your own blood behind to deal with strangers an' this shit alone," Ellis rambled, "Charlie an' Keith are like my own brothers, you know that, but I could beat the shit outta them righ' now for that."

"Ellis," Rochelle interrupted him carefully, "now's not the time. Gotta go with reality. She's with us now and safe, we can all try to get to safety."

"El, don't be mad at 'em," Carrie whispered softly, still not looking at him, "don't think bad on 'em because of it." He ground his teeth for a moment, then got to his feet.

"I wont," He looked out of the glass of the alarmed door, "but I could use killin' somethin' right about now, ya'll ready to move?" Coach shrugged at Nick and Rochelle, and Carrie drug herself to her feet, feeling immensely guilty that she hadn't told Ellis sooner.

"Looks like we have more dividers to run through," Coach looked outside as well, assessing their path, "the tower the signs talk about is real high up though, we should be pretty safe up there. And for God's sake Ellis, calm down, don't need you doin' anything stupid." Coach slapped the man's back heavily and Ellis shook it off. He didn't mean to be so upset but _Christ_, the thought of leaving someone behind was just appalling.

"I'm fine ya'll, really," he smiled as he apologized, "sorry for over reacting, just not somethin' I can be particularly happy about." The five of them took the ready, Ellis in front, itching to use the machete at his hip. Coach said a small prayer under his breath and took up the rear. "Here goes somethin'." Ellis cried with grim cheer, turning the door handle and letting the seal loose. The slim hope they all held that maybe the alarm was disabled was dashed as an electronic wail swelled and died only to swell and die again, over and over. The roar of a horde was distinct, and gave their footsteps wings. Thankfully, most had to hit a tall chain-link fence before even reaching the survivors, but others dived from the rooftops, and even more came flooding from the opposite way out of a large bus station. As they rounded the first bend, hacking, slashing, and shooting anything that made it close, Ellis saw the horde starting to pour in from up ahead. He fingered the adrenaline shot he kept in his pocket for emergencies, knowing that as healthy as he was, it was a bad idea, but he found it in his hands none the less. He removed the cover hastily and slammed it into his thigh, his body changing almost instantly, screaming from overstimulation. It was what they needed though, and he vaguely heard Rochelle call his name as he sprinted toward ladders propped up against the tower scaffolding. Infected clawed at his heels but up he went, two rungs at a time, until he was at the top, pounding across the plywood floor to the control box, switching the awful siren off.

Rochelle had hit the ladders, followed close by Carrie, both of them shoving infected from the scaffolding only to watch them crawl to their feet and start climbing again. Nick was up the first ladder and turned, kneeling to open fire at a huge wave of the snarling creatures that washed up behind them. Coach, however, bringing up the rear, was suddenly overcome, thirty or so angry infected surrounding him, taking him down quicker than one could say 'oh shit'. Ellis did just that and whipped the pipe bomb he had at his belt some fifty yards away from where Coach was lying. Most of the group went flailing after the beeping, flashing little beacon, the rest that were still beating on Coach being disposed of by the combined firepower or Rochelle, Nick, and Carrie. The explosion could be described as a veritable fountain of human remains. Although small, the pipe bombs they found from the military were destructively powerful, and rendered almost all of the huge swarm into a mess of limbs, entrails, and broken bones. The few on the outside of the group that were lucky enough to live were dispatched by Carrie and Rochelle.

"A little help!" Coach called, and although obviously in pain, he chuckled a bit amongst the broken bodies surrounding him. Nick shouldered his rifle and leapt down from the scaffolding to the older man's side.

"Ah, come on, you could have taken care of that yourself."

"Jus' me and my grand personality, right?" The fact that he was good enough to laugh about it made Nick grin. Looking him over, it was his bad knee that had given out, the rest of his injuries were no doubt just cuts and bruises, "It's not dislocated, just hurts like a bitch." Nick grabbed at the pant leg of a nearby dead infected and ripped some of the heavy jean material away. He wrapped Coach's leg up securely and then helped the man to his feet.

"It won't be easy to run with, but it won't hurt so bad either." Nick warned.

"I've had worse, thank you, Nick."

"Can't have you dying, now up you go." Nick covered Coach's slow ascent up the two ladders. The swarm had died off, only a straggler or two meandering about. Carrie usually had them down before they even took notice of the survivors. Ellis took point again, leaping down to the thick roof of a portable toilet then down to the pavement. They all followed closely and made double sure that Coach made it safely. The quiet did not ease any of them as they slowly worked through the bus station. Quiet seemed foreign to them all now.

"I guess the siren attracted everything nearby, we took care of all of it at once." Rochelle ventured to guess.

"Jus' weird to be walking about and see none of those things." Ellis whistled a bit, seeing a safe room up ahead, "Sometimes you just gotta take things as a blessing, right?"

"Let's get in there and rest for the night." Nick urged, watching the others pass him and looking back to the clear path behind him. The sun was beginning to set, staining the sky with vibrant color. Two months ago, he wouldn't have even cared. Now, when the world was falling apart, he was torn between whether it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen or a really sick joke. He followed the rest of the group in to the single room, barring and securing the door behind them. He looked forward then, to their door out, to be met with a disturbing warning:

"**LEAVING MILITARY QUARANTINE. DO NOT GO BEYOND THIS POINT WITHOUT A MILITARY ESCORT.**"

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AN: I usually do not write chapters this long, but I couldn't really find a good place to break this in half. Hopefully it was worth the read! A lot of character background and whatnot, it is always the hardest part to get through. I am using this story as a look at human nature. One aspect about the game is that we don't really get to see how the characters really deal with the emotional aspect of what is going on. Well, at least deeper than freaking out when a team mate dies or someone gets pounded into the pavement and has to be revived. I've always been interested in exploring their relationships further. Next chapter is going to be fun in the cemetery, some perspective about the survivors from Nick, some late-night gambling, and... perhaps a big bump in the road. :D Reviews are fun, I may edit this some and repost it.


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